


exo x reader angst series

by xwriteskpop



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Break Up, F/M, Hurt No Comfort, Love/Hate, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-08-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 01:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11818542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xwriteskpop/pseuds/xwriteskpop
Summary: Just a bunch of different angst scenerios because i love to suffer i guess.





	1. Sehun

You get home long after dark. The clock glowing in the corner of the room tells you it is 1:22 am. You slip out of your work clothes, covered in a days’ worth of dust and coffee stains and throw them in the direction of your hamper. You haphazardly tie your hair up, splash water on your face and swish a small mouthful of mouthwash around in your mouth. You take an old t-shirt from the top of your clean laundry chair, neatly folded clothing you have yet to put away, and shrug it on. You rummage around in a drawer for some underwear, and then shut your blinds and collapse into bed, tugging the blanket around your shoulders.

 

This is the time of night he would text you. It sounds sweet, but it’s not. It was always about other girls—prettier girls, more successful girls, better girls, but you were so patient with him. You waited for Sehun’s messages with gentle eyes and a sympathetic smile and open arms, and a hidden aching heart, but you waited. You waited because, oh god, you loved him even though he was kind of a douche and even though he couldn’t be trusted with his own life, let alone yours, even though a million other things. You loved him even though he seemed to love everyone except for you.

 

First it was one of your good friends. She looked remarkably like you, really, just skinnier and shorter and a little gentler. You had fallen for Sehun months and months before and she had just gotten out of a relationship that she had ruined by being petty. But you were happy for them, you know? You were so happy, you laughed with them and pretended that you were going to steal her away from him, that if you three went out shopping, _he’d_ be the third wheel. You happily gossiped with her about how she’d spent the weekend up at his cabin. She was his first so she had to teach him and she laughed with you about how _clumsy he really is, can you believe it?_ and you shook your head and giggled along with her because you weren’t supposed to know that he was always tripping over his limbs despite the fact that he danced and danced well. You weren’t supposed to know the curve of his waist and neck and jaw, each wrinkle of his eyes when he smiled. So you giggled and said _really? that’s so crazy, he’s graceful onstage_ because you couldn’t say that you’d memorized him long before she saw her way out of her first relationship.

 

Then it was the pretty theater girl. She met him at a studio; her voice had caught the ear of a couple of agencies in town. She was even skinnier and shorter and gentler than your friend and both of you loathed that you could not hate her. She was so kind and sweet to everyone, and yet you knew she knew she was just using him. He fell and made her his whole world, but she was always looking up. Away. At night you imagined clawing her stupid eyes out because you would have given everything to be in her position, and you would have only looked at him. But she didn’t, and it absolutely killed you. When she finally dumped him, he got drunk and called you and cried to you about how he gave her everything and how he couldn’t believe that a) she did that to him and b) he still loved her. You could only nod and tell him he would find someone else. You comforted him, offered to let him come over even though it was late and you had work the next day. He showed up at your door and you let him in, made him drink water and eat little bits of food so that he wouldn’t be hungover the next morning and hurt even more. You let him cry on your lap until your shirtsleeves were soaked with his tears. When he passed out on your bed, you only tucked him in, and slept on the couch. The whole time, all you wanted to do was kiss his forehead.

 

And then it all became a blur. He’d meet a model or an actress and hook up with her and then come to you the next morning boasting afterglow and swearing up and down that she was the one. Two weeks later, she had smashed his heart to bits and he was high and texting you that he had lost the love of his life. And sometimes you wanted to say that you’d been losing the love of your life over and over and over again for the past year but you didn’t. You knew it was all his fault, that if he wasn’t such a desperate mess all the time, if he’d look past a girl’s waist and hair that maybe he could find someone, even if it wasn't you, that could treat him well, but it didn’t feel that way most of the time. Most of the time you got mad at those other girls even though you knew that if you had any smarts you’d do the exact same thing to him and never look back. But you were never too smart, until recently.

 

And now. You hate yourself for having put up with it all. For sticking around as long as you did, for growing accustomed to those swooping blows to the gut every time he came to you with tears in his eyes and a cryptic message about hurting himself every time one of those relationships didn’t work out because oh god you had loved him for so long and had never thought about taking leftover pain medicine from when you got your wisdom teeth removed or drinking until you had to have your stomach pumped or getting crossed every night so that you wouldn’t have to care because that was the thing, you loved caring about him. And you hate yourself for that, too. But most of all, you hate that even now, even after a long day when your body and your mind are both so weary, all you can think about is him. Still. But the last time he came crying to you, you just couldn’t do it. You’d always been so kind, but not this time. Not anymore.

 

Your phone lights up on your desk. You itch to see if it’s from him, but you force yourself to stay under the covers. The light from your phone fades, and you finally drift into sleep.

 

The next morning, you see that it was a snapchat from him, but you are way too concerned with the email your boss just sent you to have time to open it and deal with that kind of mess, now. You leave it unopened and rush into work to deal with some problem that’s manifested itself overnight. By the end of the day, you’ve forgotten all about it. Just as, you’re quite sure, he’s forgotten all about you, you think when you remember it a couple of days later. _He sent it to you by mistake,_ you tell yourself. _Don’t bother opening it._

 

You stare at it anyway, that little blue chat square, and then go into settings and clear the conversation without checking to see what it was.

 

You never get a message from him again, and maybe, you tell yourself on lonely 1am nights when your heart feels like it’s trying to drown itself in your lungs, maybe it’s all for the best after all.


	2. Suho

_You know I still love you._ You kick a pebble and watch it skitter down the wet sidewalk. Your hands are shoved deep in your pockets, hair all tucked away under the hood of your rain jacket. 

 

Before you went out, Junmyeon handed you gloves and pushed that last stray hair into place for you and you hated it. You used to think it was him being overprotective and caring, and maybe it was, but maybe it was him thinking he was everyone’s goddamn _guardian_ even though you are an adult and your own person and you should be allowed to make dangerous and dumb decisions by yourself sometimes. 

 

You aren’t wearing the gloves. You tug your hood back, and the rain soaks your hair in seconds.

 

When you first met him, there was nothing he could do that wouldn’t make you smile. He liked holding your hand in public and he bought you treats every time you went out. His dad jokes had you clutching your stomach and laughing, half out of true amusement and half out of adoring exasperation. He liked to cuddle with you every night, stroke your hair and trace patternless patterns into your arms and back and tell you how beautiful you were and how much he loved you.

 

When you first met him, he looked at you like you were the whole world. He never wanted to do anything unless it was to make you happy. He picked you flowers because he knew that you liked being surrounded by them. Anything you gave him was enough. He loved your cooking. Somewhere along the line, you learned how to cut your recipes in half.

 

At night now he still sleeps close, but he doesn’t touch you. It’s enough for you to point at and say _see? something has changed_ but not enough for you to bring up a serious discussion about. But you know that you both know it’s there.

 

And he’s right. _You know I still love you._ He still loves you and you still love him, in some vague, conceptual way—it’s just that you can’t stand him when he’s here but you long for him when he’s gone and you’re so worried that one day all that’s going to be left is the former.

 

It’s only been ten minutes but even this rain isn’t enough to keep you company. When you’re out here without him, it’s like you forget why you ever left. You want his arms around you. You turn your face to the sky and imagine each drop of water is him kissing you. The emptiness you felt around him dissipates and it’s like you could love him for the rest of your life. But you know you can’t—at least, not if nothing changes. The rain water drips into the space between your rain jacket and your sweatshirt. Your shoulders feel heavy—it’s a feeling you get often when you go out, but aside from _heavy,_ you haven’t found a name for it yet. It’s too far away.

 

Your shoulders, your body, didn’t used to know that weight; you were too busy being so wrapped up in Junmyeon that you were unfamiliar with any kind of water. Now, you miss loving him with all your heart all the time. You miss loving him with all your heart all the time, all the time. 

 

You used to associate soft mornings and nights with him, in your bed, watching the sky together and making up stories about the future. Now, all you have is this.

 

You bow your head and let your feet take you back to a home that isn’t home.

 

He fusses over you and your drowned rat state as soon as you walk in the door, but you push him away, leaving your wet things in the shelter of the porch to dry, and damply making your way upstairs for some clean clothes. The emptiness is back and it hits you when you stare around your room at the pictures of both of you smiling. They’re all old.

 

That night you dream of how things used to be, but even in your dream there is something bland about all of it. There is always something missing, and when you wake up you finally figure it out—it’s the beautiful flying feeling of _being in love._

 

You are not in love, and that knowledge breaks your heart just as much as everything else put together has already.

 

How do you say _I miss you_ to someone who’s right there in front of you, who’s been right there in front of you for so long? _I miss you, I miss you. I miss the way your cheeks when you smiled used to light up my world. I miss your bad cooking and the smell of your shampoo in your hair. I miss planning silly aesthetic couple outfits with you. I miss wearing your clothes; I miss catching you wearing mine. I miss the way your skin felt on my skin, I miss your breath in my ear, I miss the way my heart used to feel when you were around. I miss you, what do I do?_

 

_I miss you, what do I do?_

 

You know if you said anything like that to him, he’d take your hands, stare intently at you until you gave in and met his gaze, and then he’d say _I’m here, baby, I’m right here._ But that’s not what you need. You need healing for all the tiny, tiny cracks in the walls that have built up and are starting to make your mind shake.

 

Junmyeon, you know, is feeling the same way. You see it when he searches your eyes like he thinks he has lost you. You see him looking for you in every small gesture you make, every word you speak. He can’t find who he is looking for. You are not how he remembers you.

 

_I miss you, what do I do?_

 

You get into so many fights now over nothing. The dishes. Turning the lights off to save money. The laundry. Gas for the cars. Anything. Even when you’re fighting, you’re not really angry.

 

Tonight, it’s counter space—your makeup versus his hair products and it’s _so stupid_ and you both know it but you keep fighting anyway, and eventually, you just leave before it can get any worse. And for the first time, through the loneliness and the haze of not being around him and the stale anger still bitter on your tongue, you capture the uneasy feeling that has been floating just out of reach for so long. You don’t want to go back. You can’t go back.

 

So, you don’t. You catch a bus heading in the direction of your friends’ place. Junmyeon texts you. You text _I’m sorry_ back without reading what he said, and turn your phone off, and close your eyes.

 

The strobing of the passing street lights dizzies you, even through your eyelids. You feel tears well up and you take a deep, trembling breath. _Everything is over._ You don’t want it to be true, but you know it is. Junmyeon’s warm brown eyes flash through your mind, his hands, the glimmer of his hair in early morning light.  _Everything is over, and I don’t know how to start again,_ even after all this time, _not without you._


End file.
